- Location
- Georgia
I kinda just went off what I remembered reading about her from the book I mentioned and from the wiki, which doesn't mention any kind of torpedo tubes.
I am Attacking, Follow Me (A Kantai Collection Quest)
- Thread starter Sturmi
- Start date
I kinda just went off what I remembered reading about her from the book I mentioned and from the wiki, which doesn't mention any kind of torpedo tubes.
- Location
- USA
Ok, looking back through my sources, it appears that I was completely wrong. That torpedo armament is actually that of the Tromp-class cruiser - Wikipedia , and it appears that I have mixed them up... sorry for the mess. I had originally planned to let us choose which ship to play as and it looks like HNLMS Tromp never quite left my mind... I'll go fix that now.
It will be an option to stick on torpedoes eventually with a Kai, or Kai 2 remodeling. I'll give us a kick up to Par for AAA as compensation. I was already dithering between those before I assigned Acceptable, but I hope this is some sort of consolation.
It will be an option to stick on torpedoes eventually with a Kai, or Kai 2 remodeling. I'll give us a kick up to Par for AAA as compensation. I was already dithering between those before I assigned Acceptable, but I hope this is some sort of consolation.
Last edited:
3. Contact
- Location
- USA
[X] make contact with whatever is fighting these monstrosities from some cruel reality.
[X] Rumbling thoughts of the tactical picture are parsed and sorted. They are mostly discarded, you know that you still lack information to make conclusions with.(Increases Intuition).
-[X] 2
[X] You have determined with utmost certainty, that you will cease the initiative. You refuse to be denied a hand in the strange game of fate you have found yourself in.(Increases Leadership).
-[X] 1
[X] Tracers streak across the sky in your mind's eye as you recall the ideal crossfires, the optimal ranges, the only way to defend yourself from death by bombs.(Increases AAA Efficiency).
-[X] 1
[X] You steel yourself, cladding your heart in iron and hope, knowing that you are about to make a difference.(Increases Grit).
-[X] 1
I toyed with the idea of making ranges for combat maddeningly high as in real life, but I suppose 5 kilometers isn't exactly close quarters. Curse your spherical nature Earth, makings height such an important mechanic for spotting...
It is evening, the sun beginning to grasp for its terminus upon the horizon. An echo of yourself hopes that soon, you too may find shelter beyond the gaze of this open sea. You are tired, bones beginning to ache of strain, muscles crying out from your abuse. You pay them no heed as you hear the sounds of war toiling not far beyond the edge separating azure skies and turquoise waters.
Your C.11 floatplane has sent back several reports, most of relatively little use, and a handful of crucial items of information. At first it had discovered several adrift piles of wreckage, all showing clear signs of battle damage. More importantly, after following a depressingly long trail of oil slicks, and shards of metal, it has come upon the battle.
A desperate clash is being fought. A convoy of roughly 30 merchantman, flagged in colors both lovingly familiar and strangely foreign, is traveling Southeast. Most of these vessels appear to have already suffered at least some sort of battle damage, and are pushing forward at a desperate pace.
25 kilometers Northwest of them is an unfolding confrontation of will, as flashes of light dot the horizon, complemented by far off explosions, and the occasional column of flames and light as something explodes with particular violence. You change course to head towards it.
The escort is what catches your eye.
5 other girls, all younger than you, circle the convoy, all deeply fatigued, and some visibly wounded. One is limping badly as she tries to keep pace, and two others seems to be bleeding badly. The tallest one has noticed your floatplane, and points up at it, drawing the attention of the others. They seem to congregate and urgently discuss this likely unexpected aircraft, but otherwise simply stare upwards.
The plane begins to descend, thankfully calm seas allowing for a landing without too much trouble upon the waves. It taxis towards the convoy, the girls forming up to meet it.
It is tense as the small aircraft comes to match the low speed of the convoy just a few dozen meters from the group.
Distinguishing them from each other is a far simpler task at this range. All of them wear a similar uniform, with scandalously short cut shorts, a tasteful, if lacking in shoulders, top, emblazoned with neckerchiefs patterned on a Union Jack, combined with a familiar blue background, along with the Southern Cross and Commonwealth Star.
The tall girl, now quite clearly the leader of the group, takes tentative movements towards the plane, her freckled face both cautious and optimistic.
To your surprise, your angle shifts quite dramatically. The little pilot in the little plane has gotten out and begun making clear hand motions to come closer. She pauses for a moment, but then closes the distance in a few seconds.
Your pilot begins making increasingly aggressive and impatient hand motions, until eventually, a strange misshapen little human pops up from behind the girl's shoulder. They begin some incomprehensible nonverbal dialogue, and after another 5 minutes of observing this strange conversation, you decide to mentally cut the feed. You trust him/her/it to make the correct decisions regarding your current situations. After all, more important things are afoot.
A mere 30 kilometers away now. The battle is almost close enough to see.
Your eyes curse you for the strain you put them under, constantly sweeping the horizon.
It is anticlimactic when you spot it, yet simultaneously unnerving. It is not really scary, not the way it was before anyway. It was simply the same kind of disturbance that would come upon someone were they to discover a dead animal in the woods. Perhaps a hint of disgust at the rot, the somewhat unexpected nature of the find perhaps adding a small degree of shock, but nothing that would truly inflict terror.
They are strange things indeed. They seem like twisted perversions of whales, thoughtful eyes replaced by a sinister light blue glow, blubbery skin flayed off and plated with obsidian shards sheared off from the catastrophic eruption of a volcano. Three of these tortured beings cruise the horizon at a swift pace. This could be any number of things, a screen for submarines, reserves to hunt down a disengaging opponent, or perhaps they were placed there for none of those reasons.
Either way, you will end their misery. Your Hazemeyer fire control director is trained upon them, and a few seconds later you have the range, 4500 meters, plus or minus 20. Too far for an effective engagement. You chance that they have yet to spot you, and begin closing directly at them.
Their formation is a simple spearhead, their maneuvers rigid, and their movements robotic and unfeeling, lacking grace or fluidity. A small smile streaks its way across your face. You feel like a predator just under the waves, hidden from sight, until a devastating strike arrives from the blue to annihilate them. For once, they are the prey, and you are the hunter.
Your illusion is unfortunately shattered just as the range reaches 3200 meters, as they suddenly reorient themselves directly towards you, an unmistakable sign of recognition.
This time there are no ear piercing screeches, no mad scrambles of panic, and certainly no alternatives.
The first shot is yours.
At this range, it takes only a handful of seconds for the rounds to throw themselves downrange. There is either not the time, or not the care for them to attempt a dodge. Two shots splash harmlessly into the sea, bracketing the little squadron neatly. Another two shots bounce off the flat, armor plated back of the lead creature, causing it to recoil downwards briefly and trail a black substance you assume to be oil. The fifth and sixth shot plunge under the same whale thing, and detonate just below its aft, presumably filling its underside with shrapnel, as well as nearly launching it into a forward flip. The seventh shot slams into the destroyer on the port side of the formation head on, directly between its eyes.
About a minute ago you thought that you would not be afraid this battle. Unfortunately you find yourself disproved as that perversion of sea life screams its characteristic howl, and more horrifying for you, revealing the utterly decrepit and decayed set of jaws that they had all evidently been hiding under water, as it bucked up from the force of the shot. Within that brief glimpse you can see the barnacle ridden and rusted cannon held within. For a few milliseconds you simply wonder how it could possibly function as a weapon, at least until it fires at you.
You break out of your headlong charge into a swift dash to starboard as the round sails towards you. It misses by a country mile, but then the other whales in its group open up.
The number of rounds they are putting downrange is beyond what you consider logically possible. A veritable rain of shells spews out of their mouths, as you are forced to dance across the water to avoid being hit. Thankfully, an opening presents itself. The timing of their volley fire is off, the two damaged ones failing to keep proper pace, both in speed and rate of fire, and as a result, a small window opens for you to once again thunder with your 15cm Bofors guns.
It is upon you. Your legs crash you to a halt, slamming against the water opposing your momentum, bringing you to a near complete stop for just a moment.
Range, 2543 meters. Windspeed, West by Southwest, 3 knots. Elevation, 0.78 degrees. Ammunition loaded, armor piercing.
The second set of shots finds greater success than before. They attempt to react, attempt to evade in the handful of seconds they have before metal slams into them at hundreds of meters per second, and yet their efforts are in vain. Their open mouths vulnerable, their nature expendable, and their position untenable, they find no reprieve.
Once again, the first two shots simply define a neat little edge to your fire, a definition of where to be if you did not wish to be destroyed by the remaining shells. The adrenaline filled moments between their impact and the rest probably wouldn't have been enough to move like that anyway.
The third shot faces little resistance as it plunges into the closing mouth of the only remaining undamaged creature. The damage is catastrophic. A ray of flames bursts out from the unfortunate thing, towering into the heavens for just a brief second, before the remainder of its body is immolated in a devastating explosion of ammunition and destruction.
The fourth, fifth, and sixth round smash into the one trailing oil, at a nearly perpendicular angle as it turned to port with everything its little fin things could give. The explosion ended any possibility of a clean getaway as the superheated shrapnel and plunged into the excuse it had for a face. In the milliseconds that followed, your own 15cm projectiles smashed into its underside, exposed in its turn, not yielding a devastating explosion, but an almost equally satisfyingly loud snap as the explosives in your shells did their work and simply broke the poor thing in two.
For a moment you are almost disappointed as the seventh shell simply seems to glance off of the one that had scared you so just a dozen seconds ago. Fate however, is not reality. The several pounds of explosives in the shell go off, lodged in the black plates of armor found on the thing's back, as it cries out in agony.
Blood is in the water. You close the range yet further at a blazing 32 knots, just waiting for your turrets to cycle for a third devastating and final volley. You rush forward as your veins surge with adrenaline, screaming bloody revenge and murder as your heart pounds. Your muscles tense, but you force them to relax as you aim for the end of this short engagement.
Range, 1978 meters. Windspeed, West by Southwest, 3 knots. Elevation, 0.70 degrees. Ammunition loa-
Instincts once more scream into your mind, as you nearly slip and fall into the water. Your legs lunge forward to stop your momentum, as a 6 inch shell surges in front of your face, and 3 more summon pillars of water all around your, spraying your body with the water, soon followed by the sound of the shots themselves, nearly deafening you, and confirming the inches you had come from death.
No time to think. Your terribly abused legs scream at you as you force them once again to the demands of your mind, accelerating you backwards before the temporary cover of the water fades back into the ocean.
The Hazemeyer searches for targets, scouring every inch of the sea for a victim.
You now deeply regret thinking that you would not be terrified for this engagement.
Her eyes have the same murderous intent, the same blue iridescence held by those creatures, but it has been multiplied ten, no, one hundredfold. It is concealed with little care behind a happy facade as she smiles at you. Oh gosh, she's missing everything below the waste. No. She has something. Just not legs. A horrible gaping maw sits beneath where you hope a pelvis would be. She is clad in a black outfit, a perversion of those sailor outfits that some schools had adopted for female students. A little grinning face with matching empty and blue eyes stares at you from where a tie would be on such an outfit.
Long silky black strands of hair taper down from her head, two buns sat upon it, as her taunting face and pale complexion show that she knows what you know far too well.
You are utterly in fear. You have already reflexively raised your arm up across your body in a vague protective gesture, hoping that it could somehow save you from this siren that has come to hunt you down. Your heart has reached a new level of panic as the blood flows so fast you think you might pass out. You think you see your death in front of you.
A pale smiling face snaps you a predatory grin as she raises her arm, clad in a black glove to make a taunting pistol gesture at you.
"Bang."
Four more shots ring out from the two turrets around her waist.
You try to push your exhausted body even further beyond its already broken limits, crashing to starboard in a jerky and drunken looking dash to safety.
The first shot carries itself sailing between your legs, vortex enough to flutter all of your clothes as it passes by.
The second shot lands just behind you in your sprint, so close that you nearly lose your footing and faceplant into the ocean for yet another time today.
The third shot plunges into your midriff, knocking the air out of you, as for a moment your mind goes blank, only being forced back to reality as it explodes.
An exposed section of muscle and tendon is clearly visible to any observer, bleeding horrifically as you struggle to keep your balance.
The fourth shot explodes in front of your face. It seems like a fluke. What kind of damned creature could make a shell explode with such perfect timing? And yet the searing blade of steel currently blinding your eye was no trick, no illusion, and certainly no advantage.
You try to piece together the jigsaw puzzle. The submarine. It had seen you. If your floatplane had noticed the battle going on, was it all too unreasonable that these things had done the same? And the squadron. It. It was bait. They knew you were coming. You waltzed into a trap.
The revelation should have been shocking, enough to break you, enough to make you fall down wailing, knees on water, against the cruel vagaries of fate.
But you don't. It is simply put away into the file cabinet of far too many eventful memories for today.
Your Hazemeyer is damaged. Its struggling to get the range, much less speed or heading. You continue to throw yourselves through wild maneuvers, trying to open the distance, hoping for a miracle to save you.
South. You run to the south, swerving in the mad dance of a ballerina, where failure is death.
It doesn't seem to care for your struggle, only lashing out with taunts and huffy laughs once in a while as it pursues you, toying with you.
You can't run like this. Your speed has been crippled, down to only about 28 knots. Your fire control is compromised. Your hull is damaged, and you want to sit down and cry.
No.
NO.
You won't let this thing get the better of you. Composure returns to your face as you do only the best that you can.
Eyes lock on each other as you try to guestimate the range and hope that the Hazemeyer still functions enough that you don't have to do this by eye.
It savors the look of struggle on your face, licking its lips as it unleashes its full speed.
It surfs on that gaping black maw at a maddening 35 knots, far beyond your hopes of retreat. But retreat is not what you intend to do. Your mind clicks as the math adds up. Range, 1708 meters.
You take a chance. Instead of fleeing, you instead attempt to close, forgoing safety, in hopes that the vertical dispersion will be bad enough for you to survive.
At a combined speed of 63 knots, the gap is closed fast.
Volley after volley echoes out between the distance. An explosion nearly takes your feet out from under you, but you scream forward. A lucky shot from your single gun turret glances off of her port turret, nearly ricocheting into her. That smile of hers. Its so bothersome to you, but you can't explain why. Is it the implication that she enjoys this? The fact that she is toying with you?
The thoughts are brushed aside by more pressing concerns as another 6 inch shell plants itself into your thigh. You cannot think as the shock and pain cripples your body for that indescribable moment of suffering. The bone is exposed from the front, and you can barely move it now.
Still you sprint forward, willing yourself beyond will.
200 meters.
100 meters.
50 meters.
10 meters.
1 meter.
You wonder for a moment why she played your game, why she missed these shots that could have killed you at this point blank range. The thoughts do not matter to you as you raise your seven turrets in a final defiant scream. At this range, you can't really miss. The orgy of violence that is 7 15cm shells is likely to lash out and hit you as well at this range. They spring out and lance into the open mouth that seemed to want to consume you. The ashes and smoke are not even clear before you receive a painful answer.
A black gloved hand launched forward from the blinding smoke, even as the cuts from the shrapnel at such close range burns your entire body. It takes you by the neck and hauls you up out of the water. As the smoke clears that smile is still there. Still grinning. Still taunting you. Not much more than dents and scratches covers her hull. She brings herself up to your ear and whispers.
"Wh̵y ̧óh́ ̶w͜h̵y̕ ̸diḑ ͢you̕ flee u̢s̷ ̵l͘it̴tl̵e ̸on͡e͢? ́W̢e͘ ̸just ͠wishe̷d t̶ha̡t y̧o͢ù ̕woul҉d͡ ̷h̷a̶v͜ȩ s҉om̸é ̶çlo͘sur͞e͏.̵.͏.͏ s̵ome̴.̢.́. happiness̛?҉" She gives you a gentle pat, enunciating each word with painful clarity and slowness. You won't go back to that void, you don't want to see that hell again. You don't want to break to your tormentors.
You want to spit on it. You can't. Shrapnel cut the necessary muscles to open your mouth about 4 seconds ago.
Down your eyes go as she makes a shush motion with her other hand. The turret is leveled at you.
You hope that everyone you let down will forgive you.
A shot rings out:
[] 12.7cm shells crash into her torso and as she recoils backwards, a kilometer away, you spot a group of four others, advancing forward in formation. The lead's head is covered in a dark purple stream of hair, sprinting forward. The second has eyes of ice that you can see even from here, determined and steeled. The third has a short mop of brown hair, and seems to be distraught at your condition. The last is rushing forward even fast than the others, having been the one to fire the shot, her very angry features are highlighted by the more orangy brown of her hair. A spitfire that one is. In your mind echoes as you fall to the ocean " I-It's going to be alright, just stay put, we will handle this." A faint hawawa and khorosho(whatever that means...) bounces around in your head. (DesDiv 6 joins the fray)
[] 8 inch shells crash into her torso, and as she is launched backwards, you spot a single figure. She is taller than you. Even from here you can see that characteristic article of clothing. She's wearing a scarf, and patterned on it is the naval jack of the Royal Australian Navy. Her auburn hair glistens in the setting sun as she charges towards you. In your mind echoes as you fall to the ocean "Looks like you've gotten yourself into quite the tight spot there De Ruyter. Let's show you how to sink one of these bastards." (HMAS Australia joins the fray)
[] 6 inch shells crash into her torso, and as she is flung backwards, you spot a pair of figures. You feel some strange kinship with the two, as if you had known each other in a different life. They stream forward, flanking your captor on either side, continuing to punch shots into her. Its almost amusing. They wear a sailor's hat, one angled off to the right, the other angled off to the left. What a strange time to chuckle, as death seems to loom over you. In your mind echoes as you fall to the ocean "Took you long enough De Ruyter, for a bit we thought you'd never be showin' up. Better late than never sweety." (HMAS Hobart and HMAS Perth joins the fray)
What do you do from here?
[] Write in
Woooo. Longest update yet. Sorry for all the delays. I feel like I was going to write something important here but I've forgotten at this point. Oh well.
EDIT: One day I'll catch all of my mistakes or get an editor. One day. (I spelled Hobart as Hobert before...)
EDIT 2: I finally remembered what that thing I wanted to say was. Sending out your floatplane to contact the escorting force is what brought Perth and Hobart to save your butt, however they were not part of that escort your C.11 spotted, and combined with the plane not doing much recon and the decision to intervene immediately, the Light Cruiser Demon caught you off guard. She's kicking your butt because that's what Light Cruiser Demon do. She annhilates lighter displacement ships that are isolated. She also does other things but I won't say what yet.
[X] Rumbling thoughts of the tactical picture are parsed and sorted. They are mostly discarded, you know that you still lack information to make conclusions with.(Increases Intuition).
-[X] 2
[X] You have determined with utmost certainty, that you will cease the initiative. You refuse to be denied a hand in the strange game of fate you have found yourself in.(Increases Leadership).
-[X] 1
[X] Tracers streak across the sky in your mind's eye as you recall the ideal crossfires, the optimal ranges, the only way to defend yourself from death by bombs.(Increases AAA Efficiency).
-[X] 1
[X] You steel yourself, cladding your heart in iron and hope, knowing that you are about to make a difference.(Increases Grit).
-[X] 1
I toyed with the idea of making ranges for combat maddeningly high as in real life, but I suppose 5 kilometers isn't exactly close quarters. Curse your spherical nature Earth, makings height such an important mechanic for spotting...
It is evening, the sun beginning to grasp for its terminus upon the horizon. An echo of yourself hopes that soon, you too may find shelter beyond the gaze of this open sea. You are tired, bones beginning to ache of strain, muscles crying out from your abuse. You pay them no heed as you hear the sounds of war toiling not far beyond the edge separating azure skies and turquoise waters.
Your C.11 floatplane has sent back several reports, most of relatively little use, and a handful of crucial items of information. At first it had discovered several adrift piles of wreckage, all showing clear signs of battle damage. More importantly, after following a depressingly long trail of oil slicks, and shards of metal, it has come upon the battle.
A desperate clash is being fought. A convoy of roughly 30 merchantman, flagged in colors both lovingly familiar and strangely foreign, is traveling Southeast. Most of these vessels appear to have already suffered at least some sort of battle damage, and are pushing forward at a desperate pace.
25 kilometers Northwest of them is an unfolding confrontation of will, as flashes of light dot the horizon, complemented by far off explosions, and the occasional column of flames and light as something explodes with particular violence. You change course to head towards it.
The escort is what catches your eye.
5 other girls, all younger than you, circle the convoy, all deeply fatigued, and some visibly wounded. One is limping badly as she tries to keep pace, and two others seems to be bleeding badly. The tallest one has noticed your floatplane, and points up at it, drawing the attention of the others. They seem to congregate and urgently discuss this likely unexpected aircraft, but otherwise simply stare upwards.
The plane begins to descend, thankfully calm seas allowing for a landing without too much trouble upon the waves. It taxis towards the convoy, the girls forming up to meet it.
It is tense as the small aircraft comes to match the low speed of the convoy just a few dozen meters from the group.
Distinguishing them from each other is a far simpler task at this range. All of them wear a similar uniform, with scandalously short cut shorts, a tasteful, if lacking in shoulders, top, emblazoned with neckerchiefs patterned on a Union Jack, combined with a familiar blue background, along with the Southern Cross and Commonwealth Star.
The tall girl, now quite clearly the leader of the group, takes tentative movements towards the plane, her freckled face both cautious and optimistic.
To your surprise, your angle shifts quite dramatically. The little pilot in the little plane has gotten out and begun making clear hand motions to come closer. She pauses for a moment, but then closes the distance in a few seconds.
Your pilot begins making increasingly aggressive and impatient hand motions, until eventually, a strange misshapen little human pops up from behind the girl's shoulder. They begin some incomprehensible nonverbal dialogue, and after another 5 minutes of observing this strange conversation, you decide to mentally cut the feed. You trust him/her/it to make the correct decisions regarding your current situations. After all, more important things are afoot.
A mere 30 kilometers away now. The battle is almost close enough to see.
Your eyes curse you for the strain you put them under, constantly sweeping the horizon.
It is anticlimactic when you spot it, yet simultaneously unnerving. It is not really scary, not the way it was before anyway. It was simply the same kind of disturbance that would come upon someone were they to discover a dead animal in the woods. Perhaps a hint of disgust at the rot, the somewhat unexpected nature of the find perhaps adding a small degree of shock, but nothing that would truly inflict terror.
They are strange things indeed. They seem like twisted perversions of whales, thoughtful eyes replaced by a sinister light blue glow, blubbery skin flayed off and plated with obsidian shards sheared off from the catastrophic eruption of a volcano. Three of these tortured beings cruise the horizon at a swift pace. This could be any number of things, a screen for submarines, reserves to hunt down a disengaging opponent, or perhaps they were placed there for none of those reasons.
Either way, you will end their misery. Your Hazemeyer fire control director is trained upon them, and a few seconds later you have the range, 4500 meters, plus or minus 20. Too far for an effective engagement. You chance that they have yet to spot you, and begin closing directly at them.
Their formation is a simple spearhead, their maneuvers rigid, and their movements robotic and unfeeling, lacking grace or fluidity. A small smile streaks its way across your face. You feel like a predator just under the waves, hidden from sight, until a devastating strike arrives from the blue to annihilate them. For once, they are the prey, and you are the hunter.
Your illusion is unfortunately shattered just as the range reaches 3200 meters, as they suddenly reorient themselves directly towards you, an unmistakable sign of recognition.
This time there are no ear piercing screeches, no mad scrambles of panic, and certainly no alternatives.
The first shot is yours.
At this range, it takes only a handful of seconds for the rounds to throw themselves downrange. There is either not the time, or not the care for them to attempt a dodge. Two shots splash harmlessly into the sea, bracketing the little squadron neatly. Another two shots bounce off the flat, armor plated back of the lead creature, causing it to recoil downwards briefly and trail a black substance you assume to be oil. The fifth and sixth shot plunge under the same whale thing, and detonate just below its aft, presumably filling its underside with shrapnel, as well as nearly launching it into a forward flip. The seventh shot slams into the destroyer on the port side of the formation head on, directly between its eyes.
About a minute ago you thought that you would not be afraid this battle. Unfortunately you find yourself disproved as that perversion of sea life screams its characteristic howl, and more horrifying for you, revealing the utterly decrepit and decayed set of jaws that they had all evidently been hiding under water, as it bucked up from the force of the shot. Within that brief glimpse you can see the barnacle ridden and rusted cannon held within. For a few milliseconds you simply wonder how it could possibly function as a weapon, at least until it fires at you.
You break out of your headlong charge into a swift dash to starboard as the round sails towards you. It misses by a country mile, but then the other whales in its group open up.
The number of rounds they are putting downrange is beyond what you consider logically possible. A veritable rain of shells spews out of their mouths, as you are forced to dance across the water to avoid being hit. Thankfully, an opening presents itself. The timing of their volley fire is off, the two damaged ones failing to keep proper pace, both in speed and rate of fire, and as a result, a small window opens for you to once again thunder with your 15cm Bofors guns.
It is upon you. Your legs crash you to a halt, slamming against the water opposing your momentum, bringing you to a near complete stop for just a moment.
Range, 2543 meters. Windspeed, West by Southwest, 3 knots. Elevation, 0.78 degrees. Ammunition loaded, armor piercing.
The second set of shots finds greater success than before. They attempt to react, attempt to evade in the handful of seconds they have before metal slams into them at hundreds of meters per second, and yet their efforts are in vain. Their open mouths vulnerable, their nature expendable, and their position untenable, they find no reprieve.
Once again, the first two shots simply define a neat little edge to your fire, a definition of where to be if you did not wish to be destroyed by the remaining shells. The adrenaline filled moments between their impact and the rest probably wouldn't have been enough to move like that anyway.
The third shot faces little resistance as it plunges into the closing mouth of the only remaining undamaged creature. The damage is catastrophic. A ray of flames bursts out from the unfortunate thing, towering into the heavens for just a brief second, before the remainder of its body is immolated in a devastating explosion of ammunition and destruction.
The fourth, fifth, and sixth round smash into the one trailing oil, at a nearly perpendicular angle as it turned to port with everything its little fin things could give. The explosion ended any possibility of a clean getaway as the superheated shrapnel and plunged into the excuse it had for a face. In the milliseconds that followed, your own 15cm projectiles smashed into its underside, exposed in its turn, not yielding a devastating explosion, but an almost equally satisfyingly loud snap as the explosives in your shells did their work and simply broke the poor thing in two.
For a moment you are almost disappointed as the seventh shell simply seems to glance off of the one that had scared you so just a dozen seconds ago. Fate however, is not reality. The several pounds of explosives in the shell go off, lodged in the black plates of armor found on the thing's back, as it cries out in agony.
Blood is in the water. You close the range yet further at a blazing 32 knots, just waiting for your turrets to cycle for a third devastating and final volley. You rush forward as your veins surge with adrenaline, screaming bloody revenge and murder as your heart pounds. Your muscles tense, but you force them to relax as you aim for the end of this short engagement.
Range, 1978 meters. Windspeed, West by Southwest, 3 knots. Elevation, 0.70 degrees. Ammunition loa-
Instincts once more scream into your mind, as you nearly slip and fall into the water. Your legs lunge forward to stop your momentum, as a 6 inch shell surges in front of your face, and 3 more summon pillars of water all around your, spraying your body with the water, soon followed by the sound of the shots themselves, nearly deafening you, and confirming the inches you had come from death.
No time to think. Your terribly abused legs scream at you as you force them once again to the demands of your mind, accelerating you backwards before the temporary cover of the water fades back into the ocean.
The Hazemeyer searches for targets, scouring every inch of the sea for a victim.
You now deeply regret thinking that you would not be terrified for this engagement.
Her eyes have the same murderous intent, the same blue iridescence held by those creatures, but it has been multiplied ten, no, one hundredfold. It is concealed with little care behind a happy facade as she smiles at you. Oh gosh, she's missing everything below the waste. No. She has something. Just not legs. A horrible gaping maw sits beneath where you hope a pelvis would be. She is clad in a black outfit, a perversion of those sailor outfits that some schools had adopted for female students. A little grinning face with matching empty and blue eyes stares at you from where a tie would be on such an outfit.
Long silky black strands of hair taper down from her head, two buns sat upon it, as her taunting face and pale complexion show that she knows what you know far too well.
You are utterly in fear. You have already reflexively raised your arm up across your body in a vague protective gesture, hoping that it could somehow save you from this siren that has come to hunt you down. Your heart has reached a new level of panic as the blood flows so fast you think you might pass out. You think you see your death in front of you.
A pale smiling face snaps you a predatory grin as she raises her arm, clad in a black glove to make a taunting pistol gesture at you.
"Bang."
Four more shots ring out from the two turrets around her waist.
You try to push your exhausted body even further beyond its already broken limits, crashing to starboard in a jerky and drunken looking dash to safety.
The first shot carries itself sailing between your legs, vortex enough to flutter all of your clothes as it passes by.
The second shot lands just behind you in your sprint, so close that you nearly lose your footing and faceplant into the ocean for yet another time today.
The third shot plunges into your midriff, knocking the air out of you, as for a moment your mind goes blank, only being forced back to reality as it explodes.
An exposed section of muscle and tendon is clearly visible to any observer, bleeding horrifically as you struggle to keep your balance.
The fourth shot explodes in front of your face. It seems like a fluke. What kind of damned creature could make a shell explode with such perfect timing? And yet the searing blade of steel currently blinding your eye was no trick, no illusion, and certainly no advantage.
You try to piece together the jigsaw puzzle. The submarine. It had seen you. If your floatplane had noticed the battle going on, was it all too unreasonable that these things had done the same? And the squadron. It. It was bait. They knew you were coming. You waltzed into a trap.
The revelation should have been shocking, enough to break you, enough to make you fall down wailing, knees on water, against the cruel vagaries of fate.
But you don't. It is simply put away into the file cabinet of far too many eventful memories for today.
Your Hazemeyer is damaged. Its struggling to get the range, much less speed or heading. You continue to throw yourselves through wild maneuvers, trying to open the distance, hoping for a miracle to save you.
South. You run to the south, swerving in the mad dance of a ballerina, where failure is death.
It doesn't seem to care for your struggle, only lashing out with taunts and huffy laughs once in a while as it pursues you, toying with you.
You can't run like this. Your speed has been crippled, down to only about 28 knots. Your fire control is compromised. Your hull is damaged, and you want to sit down and cry.
No.
NO.
You won't let this thing get the better of you. Composure returns to your face as you do only the best that you can.
Eyes lock on each other as you try to guestimate the range and hope that the Hazemeyer still functions enough that you don't have to do this by eye.
It savors the look of struggle on your face, licking its lips as it unleashes its full speed.
It surfs on that gaping black maw at a maddening 35 knots, far beyond your hopes of retreat. But retreat is not what you intend to do. Your mind clicks as the math adds up. Range, 1708 meters.
You take a chance. Instead of fleeing, you instead attempt to close, forgoing safety, in hopes that the vertical dispersion will be bad enough for you to survive.
At a combined speed of 63 knots, the gap is closed fast.
Volley after volley echoes out between the distance. An explosion nearly takes your feet out from under you, but you scream forward. A lucky shot from your single gun turret glances off of her port turret, nearly ricocheting into her. That smile of hers. Its so bothersome to you, but you can't explain why. Is it the implication that she enjoys this? The fact that she is toying with you?
The thoughts are brushed aside by more pressing concerns as another 6 inch shell plants itself into your thigh. You cannot think as the shock and pain cripples your body for that indescribable moment of suffering. The bone is exposed from the front, and you can barely move it now.
Still you sprint forward, willing yourself beyond will.
200 meters.
100 meters.
50 meters.
10 meters.
1 meter.
You wonder for a moment why she played your game, why she missed these shots that could have killed you at this point blank range. The thoughts do not matter to you as you raise your seven turrets in a final defiant scream. At this range, you can't really miss. The orgy of violence that is 7 15cm shells is likely to lash out and hit you as well at this range. They spring out and lance into the open mouth that seemed to want to consume you. The ashes and smoke are not even clear before you receive a painful answer.
A black gloved hand launched forward from the blinding smoke, even as the cuts from the shrapnel at such close range burns your entire body. It takes you by the neck and hauls you up out of the water. As the smoke clears that smile is still there. Still grinning. Still taunting you. Not much more than dents and scratches covers her hull. She brings herself up to your ear and whispers.
"Wh̵y ̧óh́ ̶w͜h̵y̕ ̸diḑ ͢you̕ flee u̢s̷ ̵l͘it̴tl̵e ̸on͡e͢? ́W̢e͘ ̸just ͠wishe̷d t̶ha̡t y̧o͢ù ̕woul҉d͡ ̷h̷a̶v͜ȩ s҉om̸é ̶çlo͘sur͞e͏.̵.͏.͏ s̵ome̴.̢.́. happiness̛?҉" She gives you a gentle pat, enunciating each word with painful clarity and slowness. You won't go back to that void, you don't want to see that hell again. You don't want to break to your tormentors.
You want to spit on it. You can't. Shrapnel cut the necessary muscles to open your mouth about 4 seconds ago.
Down your eyes go as she makes a shush motion with her other hand. The turret is leveled at you.
You hope that everyone you let down will forgive you.
A shot rings out:
[] 12.7cm shells crash into her torso and as she recoils backwards, a kilometer away, you spot a group of four others, advancing forward in formation. The lead's head is covered in a dark purple stream of hair, sprinting forward. The second has eyes of ice that you can see even from here, determined and steeled. The third has a short mop of brown hair, and seems to be distraught at your condition. The last is rushing forward even fast than the others, having been the one to fire the shot, her very angry features are highlighted by the more orangy brown of her hair. A spitfire that one is. In your mind echoes as you fall to the ocean " I-It's going to be alright, just stay put, we will handle this." A faint hawawa and khorosho(whatever that means...) bounces around in your head. (DesDiv 6 joins the fray)
[] 8 inch shells crash into her torso, and as she is launched backwards, you spot a single figure. She is taller than you. Even from here you can see that characteristic article of clothing. She's wearing a scarf, and patterned on it is the naval jack of the Royal Australian Navy. Her auburn hair glistens in the setting sun as she charges towards you. In your mind echoes as you fall to the ocean "Looks like you've gotten yourself into quite the tight spot there De Ruyter. Let's show you how to sink one of these bastards." (HMAS Australia joins the fray)
[] 6 inch shells crash into her torso, and as she is flung backwards, you spot a pair of figures. You feel some strange kinship with the two, as if you had known each other in a different life. They stream forward, flanking your captor on either side, continuing to punch shots into her. Its almost amusing. They wear a sailor's hat, one angled off to the right, the other angled off to the left. What a strange time to chuckle, as death seems to loom over you. In your mind echoes as you fall to the ocean "Took you long enough De Ruyter, for a bit we thought you'd never be showin' up. Better late than never sweety." (HMAS Hobart and HMAS Perth joins the fray)
What do you do from here?
[] Write in
Woooo. Longest update yet. Sorry for all the delays. I feel like I was going to write something important here but I've forgotten at this point. Oh well.
EDIT: One day I'll catch all of my mistakes or get an editor. One day. (I spelled Hobart as Hobert before...)
EDIT 2: I finally remembered what that thing I wanted to say was. Sending out your floatplane to contact the escorting force is what brought Perth and Hobart to save your butt, however they were not part of that escort your C.11 spotted, and combined with the plane not doing much recon and the decision to intervene immediately, the Light Cruiser Demon caught you off guard. She's kicking your butt because that's what Light Cruiser Demon do. She annhilates lighter displacement ships that are isolated. She also does other things but I won't say what yet.
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- Location
- United States
[X] 6 inch shells crash into her torso, and as she is flung backwards, you spot a pair of figures. You feel some strange kinship with the two, as if you had known each other in a different life. They stream forward, flanking your captor on either side, continuing to punch shots into her. Its almost amusing. They wear a sailor's hat, one angled off to the right, the other angled off to the left. What a strange time to chuckle, as death seems to loom over you. In your mind echoes as you fall to the ocean "Took you long enough De Ruyter, for a bit we thought you'd never be showin' up. Better late than never sweety." (HMAS Hobert and HMAS Perth joins the fray)
What do you do from here?
[X] Take out the monster with your new allies. Assuming we live, try to link back up with the convoy we saw earlier, If failing that then head to Australia. Along the way try to repair any damage and talk with your traveling companion(s), Maybe they can tell you what the hell is going on.
What do you do from here?
[X] Take out the monster with your new allies. Assuming we live, try to link back up with the convoy we saw earlier, If failing that then head to Australia. Along the way try to repair any damage and talk with your traveling companion(s), Maybe they can tell you what the hell is going on.
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Thors_Alumni
Proud member of Thors Class VII from Liberl
- Location
- Liberl Zemuria.
[X] 6 inch shells crash into her torso, and as she is flung backwards, you spot a pair of figures. You feel some strange kinship with the two, as if you had known each other in a different life. They stream forward, flanking your captor on either side, continuing to punch shots into her. Its almost amusing. They wear a sailor's hat, one angled off to the right, the other angled off to the left. What a strange time to chuckle, as death seems to loom over you. In your mind echoes as you fall to the ocean "Took you long enough De Ruyter, for a bit we thought you'd never be showin' up. Better late than never sweety." (HMAS Hobert and HMAS Perth joins the fray)
What do you do from here?
[X] Take out the monster with your new allies. Assuming we live, try to link back up with the convoy we saw earlier, If failing that then head to Australia. Along the way try to repair any damage and talk with your traveling companion(s), Maybe they can tell you what the hell is going on.
What do you do from here?
[X] Take out the monster with your new allies. Assuming we live, try to link back up with the convoy we saw earlier, If failing that then head to Australia. Along the way try to repair any damage and talk with your traveling companion(s), Maybe they can tell you what the hell is going on.
ARBITRACOM
Sic transit gloria mundi
[X] 6 inch shells crash into her torso, and as she is flung backwards, you spot a pair of figures. You feel some strange kinship with the two, as if you had known each other in a different life. They stream forward, flanking your captor on either side, continuing to punch shots into her. Its almost amusing. They wear a sailor's hat, one angled off to the right, the other angled off to the left. What a strange time to chuckle, as death seems to loom over you. In your mind echoes as you fall to the ocean "Took you long enough De Ruyter, for a bit we thought you'd never be showin' up. Better late than never sweety." (HMAS Hobert and HMAS Perth joins the fray)
What do you do from here?
[X] Take out the monster with your new allies. Assuming we live, try to link back up with the convoy we saw earlier, If failing that then head to Australia. Along the way try to repair any damage and talk with your traveling companion(s), Maybe they can tell you what the hell is going on.
What do you do from here?
[X] Take out the monster with your new allies. Assuming we live, try to link back up with the convoy we saw earlier, If failing that then head to Australia. Along the way try to repair any damage and talk with your traveling companion(s), Maybe they can tell you what the hell is going on.
- Location
- Hug the Moebot; Save the world
Hmm the option of adorable smol canon destroyers is a tempting one. However the 3rd option has a fellow ship from De Ruyters final battle. Plus as an Australian i have to vote for my country's navy 
[x] 6 inch shells crash into her torso, and as she is flung backwards, you spot a pair of figures. You feel some strange kinship with the two, as if you had known each other in a different life. They stream forward, flanking your captor on either side, continuing to punch shots into her. Its almost amusing. They wear a sailor's hat, one angled off to the right, the other angled off to the left. What a strange time to chuckle, as death seems to loom over you. In your mind echoes as you fall to the ocean "Took you long enough De Ruyter, for a bit we thought you'd never be showin' up. Better late than never sweety." (HMAS Hobert and HMAS Perth joins the fray)
[x] 6 inch shells crash into her torso, and as she is flung backwards, you spot a pair of figures. You feel some strange kinship with the two, as if you had known each other in a different life. They stream forward, flanking your captor on either side, continuing to punch shots into her. Its almost amusing. They wear a sailor's hat, one angled off to the right, the other angled off to the left. What a strange time to chuckle, as death seems to loom over you. In your mind echoes as you fall to the ocean "Took you long enough De Ruyter, for a bit we thought you'd never be showin' up. Better late than never sweety." (HMAS Hobert and HMAS Perth joins the fray)
[X] 6 inch shells crash into her torso, and as she is flung backwards, you spot a pair of figures. You feel some strange kinship with the two, as if you had known each other in a different life. They stream forward, flanking your captor on either side, continuing to punch shots into her. Its almost amusing. They wear a sailor's hat, one angled off to the right, the other angled off to the left. What a strange time to chuckle, as death seems to loom over you. In your mind echoes as you fall to the ocean "Took you long enough De Ruyter, for a bit we thought you'd never be showin' up. Better late than never sweety." (HMAS Hobert and HMAS Perth joins the fray)
What do you do from here?
[X] Take out the monster with your new allies. Assuming we live, try to link back up with the convoy we saw earlier, If failing that then head to Australia. Along the way try to repair any damage and talk with your traveling companion(s), Maybe they can tell you what the hell is going on.
What do you do from here?
[X] Take out the monster with your new allies. Assuming we live, try to link back up with the convoy we saw earlier, If failing that then head to Australia. Along the way try to repair any damage and talk with your traveling companion(s), Maybe they can tell you what the hell is going on.
- Location
- England
[X] 6 inch shells crash into her torso, and as she is flung backwards, you spot a pair of figures. You feel some strange kinship with the two, as if you had known each other in a different life. They stream forward, flanking your captor on either side, continuing to punch shots into her. Its almost amusing. They wear a sailor's hat, one angled off to the right, the other angled off to the left. What a strange time to chuckle, as death seems to loom over you. In your mind echoes as you fall to the ocean "Took you long enough De Ruyter, for a bit we thought you'd never be showin' up. Better late than never sweety." (HMAS Hobert and HMAS Perth joins the fray)
What do you do from here?
[X] Take out the monster with your new allies. Assuming we live, try to link back up with the convoy we saw earlier, If failing that then head to Australia. Along the way try to repair any damage and talk with your traveling companion(s), Maybe they can tell you what the hell is going on.
What do you do from here?
[X] Take out the monster with your new allies. Assuming we live, try to link back up with the convoy we saw earlier, If failing that then head to Australia. Along the way try to repair any damage and talk with your traveling companion(s), Maybe they can tell you what the hell is going on.
*Blinks* We didn't use our torpedoes? That final charge kind of seemed to look like a good time to just swerve and suddenly torpedo in your face.
- Location
- England
We don't actually have torpedoes. Sturmi got a bit mixed up with HNLMS Tromp and made a mistake with our armament.
- Location
- Currently Hanging Somewhere
[X] 6 inch shells crash into her torso, and as she is flung backwards, you spot a pair of figures. You feel some strange kinship with the two, as if you had known each other in a different life. They stream forward, flanking your captor on either side, continuing to punch shots into her. Its almost amusing. They wear a sailor's hat, one angled off to the right, the other angled off to the left. What a strange time to chuckle, as death seems to loom over you. In your mind echoes as you fall to the ocean "Took you long enough De Ruyter, for a bit we thought you'd never be showin' up. Better late than never sweety." (HMAS Hobert and HMAS Perth joins the fray)
What do you do from here?
[X] Take out the monster with your new allies. Assuming we live, try to link back up with the convoy we saw earlier, If failing that then head to Australia. Along the way try to repair any damage and talk with your traveling companion(s), Maybe they can tell you what the hell is going on.
What do you do from here?
[X] Take out the monster with your new allies. Assuming we live, try to link back up with the convoy we saw earlier, If failing that then head to Australia. Along the way try to repair any damage and talk with your traveling companion(s), Maybe they can tell you what the hell is going on.
- Location
- Inside my own head
- Pronouns
- They/Them
I was under the impression we were fainting so we probably aren't gonna be helping them.
(note: I know nearly nothing about the game or actual ships).
It's fiiine, you'll just have to downgrade all the enemies so we can actually kill them
(note: I know nearly nothing about the game or actual ships).[X] 6 inch shells crash into her torso, and as she is flung backwards, you spot a pair of figures. You feel some strange kinship with the two, as if you had known each other in a different life. They stream forward, flanking your captor on either side, continuing to punch shots into her. Its almost amusing. They wear a sailor's hat, one angled off to the right, the other angled off to the left. What a strange time to chuckle, as death seems to loom over you. In your mind echoes as you fall to the ocean "Took you long enough De Ruyter, for a bit we thought you'd never be showin' up. Better late than never sweety." (HMAS Hobert and HMAS Perth joins the fray)
What do you do from here
[X] Take out the monster with your new allies. Assuming we live, try to link back up with the convoy we saw earlier, If failing that then head to Australia. Along the way try to repair any damage and talk with your traveling companion(s), Maybe they can tell you what the hell is going on.
What do you do from here
[X] Take out the monster with your new allies. Assuming we live, try to link back up with the convoy we saw earlier, If failing that then head to Australia. Along the way try to repair any damage and talk with your traveling companion(s), Maybe they can tell you what the hell is going on.
obssesednuker
Commander of 10 Million Men
- Location
- In the Kremlin, activating Perimtr.
[X] 6 inch shells crash into her torso, and as she is flung backwards, you spot a pair of figures. You feel some strange kinship with the two, as if you had known each other in a different life. They stream forward, flanking your captor on either side, continuing to punch shots into her. Its almost amusing. They wear a sailor's hat, one angled off to the right, the other angled off to the left. What a strange time to chuckle, as death seems to loom over you. In your mind echoes as you fall to the ocean "Took you long enough De Ruyter, for a bit we thought you'd never be showin' up. Better late than never sweety."(HMAS Hobert and HMAS Perth joins the fray)
What do you do from here
[X] Take out the monster with your new allies. Assuming we live, try to link back up with the convoy we saw earlier, If failingthat then head to Australia. Along the way try to repair any damage and talk with yourtraveling companion(s), Maybe they cantell you what the hell is going on.
What do you do from here
[X] Take out the monster with your new allies. Assuming we live, try to link back up with the convoy we saw earlier, If failingthat then head to Australia. Along the way try to repair any damage and talk with yourtraveling companion(s), Maybe they cantell you what the hell is going on.
- Location
- Georgia
Well that could have gone better, is all I can say.
[x] 6 inch shells crash into her torso, and as she is flung backwards, you spot a pair of figures. You feel some strange kinship with the two, as if you had known each other in a different life. They stream forward, flanking your captor on either side, continuing to punch shots into her. Its almost amusing. They wear a sailor's hat, one angled off to the right, the other angled off to the left. What a strange time to chuckle, as death seems to loom over you. In your mind echoes as you fall to the ocean "Took you long enough De Ruyter, for a bit we thought you'd never be showin' up. Better late than never sweety." (HMAS Hobert and HMAS Perth joins the fray)
Time to get the ABDAFLOAT band back together.
What do you do from here
[X] Take out the monster with your new allies. Assuming we live, try to link back up with the convoy we saw earlier, If failing that then head to Australia. Along the way try to repair any damage and talk with your traveling companion(s), Maybe they can tell you what the hell is going on.
To Australia where hopefully won't accidentally get killed.
[x] 6 inch shells crash into her torso, and as she is flung backwards, you spot a pair of figures. You feel some strange kinship with the two, as if you had known each other in a different life. They stream forward, flanking your captor on either side, continuing to punch shots into her. Its almost amusing. They wear a sailor's hat, one angled off to the right, the other angled off to the left. What a strange time to chuckle, as death seems to loom over you. In your mind echoes as you fall to the ocean "Took you long enough De Ruyter, for a bit we thought you'd never be showin' up. Better late than never sweety." (HMAS Hobert and HMAS Perth joins the fray)
Time to get the ABDAFLOAT band back together.
What do you do from here
[X] Take out the monster with your new allies. Assuming we live, try to link back up with the convoy we saw earlier, If failing that then head to Australia. Along the way try to repair any damage and talk with your traveling companion(s), Maybe they can tell you what the hell is going on.
To Australia where hopefully won't accidentally get killed.
- Location
- Inside my own head
- Pronouns
- They/Them
I would say it is, yeah. I personally sort of auto-skipped the two targeting lines but I don't think they should be removed. That's more of an artefact of my reading style and also being insanely bad at estimating distances and directions.
The writing overall is pretty good so far. Something about it does feel a bit awkward but I'm not good enough at analysing and stuff to tell you why.
Quoting this in case anybody missed it and also to say you should try and tell as much as possibly through the actual story. I mean I like the info but that they're here to save us because we made contact is probably something that should be in the next update, no?
4. Three Musketeers
- Location
- USA
[X] 6 inch shells crash into her torso, and as she is flung backwards, you spot a pair of figures. You feel some strange kinship with the two, as if you had known each other in a different life. They stream forward, flanking your captor on either side, continuing to punch shots into her. Its almost amusing. They wear a sailor's hat, one angled off to the right, the other angled off to the left. What a strange time to chuckle, as death seems to loom over you. In your mind echoes as you fall to the ocean "Took you long enough De Ruyter, for a bit we thought you'd never be showin' up. Better late than never sweety." (HMAS Hobart and HMAS Perth joins the fray)
[X] Take out the monster with your new allies. Assuming we live, try to link back up with the convoy we saw earlier, If failing that then head to Australia. Along the way try to repair any damage and talk with your traveling companion(s), Maybe they can tell you what the hell is going on.
As you fall, knees first, onto the water, a wave of black crashes down through the vision of your one good eye. It's a bizarre feeling. You can hear the deafening thud of cannon fire blasting into your ears, you can feel the water on your legs and arms as you struggle to push yourself back onto two feet.
You can only wonder why that demon hasn't taken the chance to pump a shell into you while you can barely stand up, let alone see or return fire, but as your vision once again begins to fizzle into something comprehensible, awe briefly overtakes you.
Your two saviors are coordinated to a degree that implies telepathy. They did not bother with your now quite clearly inefficient volley fire, instead firing off individual turrets in a continuous rain of steel. They circled her, tracing a double helix with their wakes as she tried to maneuver away. Every moment she was about to return fire, two 6 inch guns would thunder and force her to twist away at some bizarre angle before attempting to fire once more.
Unfortunately, you could also see that this was not going to work forever. Raw speed worked in her favor as she slowly broke free of the circle of cannon fire.
Perhaps it was planned, perhaps not, but as the siren was about to break the imaginary ring that prevented her from killing you all, she also found herself within a few arms lengths of a torpedo launcher, that was just about to let loose with their explosive payload into the water.
Of course, her inhuman physiology, and eldritch properties allowed her to merely give a satisfied wink at an equally unflappable and smiling Australian as she briefly propelled herself out of the water and over the hundreds of pounds of high explosives that should have killed her.
Thankfully that smug face probably had something less than a smile after one of the four torpedoes that your other Australian friend had fired a few seconds prior impacted her from behind, throwing up a gigantic column of water.
You try once more to get up to speed and rejoin the battle. Form has been forsaken for raw power at this point. Your strides are inefficient and frankly very exhausting, but it is still enough to bring you up to 27 knots. Considering that half of your body is numb at this point, you have to make a very conscious effort to not look downwards. You would probably throw up if you had to look at how many cuts had blood streaming out of them at this point.
For a moment you think none of them have noticed you as begin to approach the wheel of doom in front of you, but alas, it is not meant to be.
"De Ruyter, what do you think you're doing?! You're a mess, you can't keep up the fight like this." You almost can't offer the effort to respond. A message springs forth from your tired aching mind, hoping to find a recipient.
"I'm... I'm fighting... tell me where to slot in..." A part of you screams that you shouldn't have responded, that you are distracting them and about to get them killed. Another part knows that if you don't even try to coordinate, you'll probably end up killing them as well as yourself.
As you finally catch up, they reach a decision.
"Stay out of our little dance and take potshots." A brief pause. "Please don't hurt yourself even more. We. We've been looking forward to meeting you again."
As they maneuver, you find that even as your body starts to refuse your commands, you cannot keep up while also evading. If you lapse for even a second, if that thing decides that you are going to die, you don't feel like you would be able to do much to stop it. At this kind of point blank engagement, you thankfully find yourself with no need for your fire control, a single eye being sufficient to aim, even with your skewed vision.
This is a battle of attrition, short and simple. Twenty three 6 inch guns to four. it seems like it should be an easy fight, yet you can barely even comprehend how much firepower this demon has taken.
Your brain has begun to simply tune out the baritone impact of cannon fire, having personally hit it at least sixteen times at this point. It barely even processes that if your sorry brain can achieve that, the Aussies must have hit it over a hundred times by now.
At the very least, it has begun to show signs of damage. Through the occasional glimpses caught between impacts of water and walls of smoke, you can see the effect of a thousand cuts.
Her black pedestal has begun to deform and crack, exposing streams of blue fluids. On what could be recognized as a person is multiple black bruises, and a small handful of what look like craters. That grin is gone too, replaced by an annoyed frown. There isn't really time to take satisfaction at her annoyance.
She's suppressed for now. If this keeps up, you will kill her.
That's why you know that something is wrong. She's not going to just let this happen... and you think you know how this is going to go south.
"I-I didn't finish that last whale thing back there... a-are there more of those?"
Even from so far behind the clash in front of you, its not hard to see the realization hit them.
She starts smiling again.
Silhouetted against the setting sun, now touching the horizon, five little dots are strung up in a neat line across the horizon.
There's no way that this fragile balance can be sustained while you're harried by those imps.
A while ago you would have been shocked. Now you just let out a bitter chuckle. At least you noticed the attack before they were in your face this time.
What do you do from here?
[] Write in
If you want to fight, write in a more specific plan of what to do. This will be the most decisive vote for what trait you end up getting, so think this one through very carefully. The five Abyssal destroyers on the horizon are a cut above the ones you slaughtered earlier, and you are now handicapped in terms of combat ability from battle damage. To clarify the state of Light Cruiser Demon, she's at about 60% health, mostly from Hobart's torpedo. Hobart and Perth still have one set of quad launchers apiece. They are both effectively full health, but also fairly tired after the acrobatics needed to keep Light Cruiser Demon in check. You are about 50 kilometers northwest from the convoy now. Night is close.
De Ruyter is counting on you~
[X] Take out the monster with your new allies. Assuming we live, try to link back up with the convoy we saw earlier, If failing that then head to Australia. Along the way try to repair any damage and talk with your traveling companion(s), Maybe they can tell you what the hell is going on.
As you fall, knees first, onto the water, a wave of black crashes down through the vision of your one good eye. It's a bizarre feeling. You can hear the deafening thud of cannon fire blasting into your ears, you can feel the water on your legs and arms as you struggle to push yourself back onto two feet.
You can only wonder why that demon hasn't taken the chance to pump a shell into you while you can barely stand up, let alone see or return fire, but as your vision once again begins to fizzle into something comprehensible, awe briefly overtakes you.
Your two saviors are coordinated to a degree that implies telepathy. They did not bother with your now quite clearly inefficient volley fire, instead firing off individual turrets in a continuous rain of steel. They circled her, tracing a double helix with their wakes as she tried to maneuver away. Every moment she was about to return fire, two 6 inch guns would thunder and force her to twist away at some bizarre angle before attempting to fire once more.
Unfortunately, you could also see that this was not going to work forever. Raw speed worked in her favor as she slowly broke free of the circle of cannon fire.
Perhaps it was planned, perhaps not, but as the siren was about to break the imaginary ring that prevented her from killing you all, she also found herself within a few arms lengths of a torpedo launcher, that was just about to let loose with their explosive payload into the water.
Of course, her inhuman physiology, and eldritch properties allowed her to merely give a satisfied wink at an equally unflappable and smiling Australian as she briefly propelled herself out of the water and over the hundreds of pounds of high explosives that should have killed her.
Thankfully that smug face probably had something less than a smile after one of the four torpedoes that your other Australian friend had fired a few seconds prior impacted her from behind, throwing up a gigantic column of water.
You try once more to get up to speed and rejoin the battle. Form has been forsaken for raw power at this point. Your strides are inefficient and frankly very exhausting, but it is still enough to bring you up to 27 knots. Considering that half of your body is numb at this point, you have to make a very conscious effort to not look downwards. You would probably throw up if you had to look at how many cuts had blood streaming out of them at this point.
For a moment you think none of them have noticed you as begin to approach the wheel of doom in front of you, but alas, it is not meant to be.
"De Ruyter, what do you think you're doing?! You're a mess, you can't keep up the fight like this." You almost can't offer the effort to respond. A message springs forth from your tired aching mind, hoping to find a recipient.
"I'm... I'm fighting... tell me where to slot in..." A part of you screams that you shouldn't have responded, that you are distracting them and about to get them killed. Another part knows that if you don't even try to coordinate, you'll probably end up killing them as well as yourself.
As you finally catch up, they reach a decision.
"Stay out of our little dance and take potshots." A brief pause. "Please don't hurt yourself even more. We. We've been looking forward to meeting you again."
As they maneuver, you find that even as your body starts to refuse your commands, you cannot keep up while also evading. If you lapse for even a second, if that thing decides that you are going to die, you don't feel like you would be able to do much to stop it. At this kind of point blank engagement, you thankfully find yourself with no need for your fire control, a single eye being sufficient to aim, even with your skewed vision.
This is a battle of attrition, short and simple. Twenty three 6 inch guns to four. it seems like it should be an easy fight, yet you can barely even comprehend how much firepower this demon has taken.
Your brain has begun to simply tune out the baritone impact of cannon fire, having personally hit it at least sixteen times at this point. It barely even processes that if your sorry brain can achieve that, the Aussies must have hit it over a hundred times by now.
At the very least, it has begun to show signs of damage. Through the occasional glimpses caught between impacts of water and walls of smoke, you can see the effect of a thousand cuts.
Her black pedestal has begun to deform and crack, exposing streams of blue fluids. On what could be recognized as a person is multiple black bruises, and a small handful of what look like craters. That grin is gone too, replaced by an annoyed frown. There isn't really time to take satisfaction at her annoyance.
She's suppressed for now. If this keeps up, you will kill her.
That's why you know that something is wrong. She's not going to just let this happen... and you think you know how this is going to go south.
"I-I didn't finish that last whale thing back there... a-are there more of those?"
Even from so far behind the clash in front of you, its not hard to see the realization hit them.
She starts smiling again.
Silhouetted against the setting sun, now touching the horizon, five little dots are strung up in a neat line across the horizon.
There's no way that this fragile balance can be sustained while you're harried by those imps.
A while ago you would have been shocked. Now you just let out a bitter chuckle. At least you noticed the attack before they were in your face this time.
What do you do from here?
[] Write in
If you want to fight, write in a more specific plan of what to do. This will be the most decisive vote for what trait you end up getting, so think this one through very carefully. The five Abyssal destroyers on the horizon are a cut above the ones you slaughtered earlier, and you are now handicapped in terms of combat ability from battle damage. To clarify the state of Light Cruiser Demon, she's at about 60% health, mostly from Hobart's torpedo. Hobart and Perth still have one set of quad launchers apiece. They are both effectively full health, but also fairly tired after the acrobatics needed to keep Light Cruiser Demon in check. You are about 50 kilometers northwest from the convoy now. Night is close.
De Ruyter is counting on you~
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- Location
- Inside my own head
- Pronouns
- They/Them
Seems like I was a bit optimistic in thinking this was over. Light cruiser demon is a lot more durable than I expected.
I don't know what to do yet but our fire control is too damaged to really hit anything at long range right? Also the missing eye.
I don't know what to do yet but our fire control is too damaged to really hit anything at long range right? Also the missing eye.
- Location
- England
We need to finish this fight with LCD quickly. With how much damage Hobart did, it seems like torpedoes are the way to go here, assuming we can actually get them to hit.
@Sturmi, what's LCD's manoeuvrability like now? Would she be able to jump over another round of torpedoes like she did before?
@Sturmi, what's LCD's manoeuvrability like now? Would she be able to jump over another round of torpedoes like she did before?
- Location
- USA
Light Cruiser Demon seems to have had her speed impaired to the upper mid range of the 20 knot range, since she has been unable to break out of Hobart and Perth's encirclement, but her manoueverability seems to be mostly unimpaired as she still dodges with the same taunting grace as when the fight began.
As for jumping over torpedoes to dodge... consider that she enjoys toying with her victims, like she did with you.
As for jumping over torpedoes to dodge... consider that she enjoys toying with her victims, like she did with you.